Teacher
by RavenclawGenius
Summary: HGSF: Seamus had always been awful at Charms.


Seamus growled and fisted his hands in his short, sandy brown hair, scrubbing his scalp roughly before pulling his hands from his head entirely. He felt like throwing his wand across the room and stomping on it.

There had to be a reason that the charm wasn't working properly. Granted, he knew that he was far less adept at Charms than his peers, but he'd been at this for hours, and he'd earned nothing but a headache and a lot of tension in his neck. He'd read the passage in his textbook nearly eight hundred times, and he simply couldn't suss out what he'd been doing incorrectly.

His wand movements had been precise, if perhaps a bit sharper than necessary. His words were being pronounced correctly – or at least, as far as he could determine. But the words sounded similar to the way that Flitwick's had when he'd taught it in class, so he should at least be gathering some sort of result, even if it wasn't the desired one.

He'd gone so far as to check out a series of other books to assist him in his plight, to no avail. He hadn't gotten better at all; he was beginning to wonder if his exhausted mind had determined his body incapable and had gone off to sleep.

Pondering the possible separation of his mind and body could not bode well for progress, Seamus thought suddenly. He'd been diligently working on this charm since noon, and it was now – he glanced at his watch briefly – a quarter to nine in the evening. Fantastic. He'd missed supper.

He reluctantly decided that a break was in order, and made his way down to the kitchens, his hands shoved in the recesses of his pockets and his head bowed low with disappointment as he walked. The fruits giggled at him, apparently assuming that he was merely sleepy and needed a bout of caffeine. Seamus fired a glare in the pear's direction, vaguely registering how silly it was to be angry with a fruit – and one in a painting, no less – until it stifled its cachinnations significantly.

He was slightly surprised when he found the kitchens to be otherwise occupied.

He was accosted by house elves, twittering about merrily and twisting their cloths between nimble, somewhat grotesque-looking fingers. "I'll take whatever's left from supper," he requested gently. "Any chance for a mug of coffee?"

"Of course, sir!" The small elf, who proudly declared itself to be Fitzy, scampered off to start on his coffee and another elf, whose name he didn't catch, hurried him toward the small table that Hermione Granger was currently resting at.

He nodded his greeting to Granger, and promptly thanked the elf that brought him his meal, before taking a bite of a delicious portion of chicken.

"Did you miss supper?" Hermione asked gently, raising a brow at the circles that revealed themselves beneath his eyes as he glanced up at her.

"Looks like," he offered a smile, his Irish brogue tangled and nearly lost behind a mouthful of baked carrots. After he swallowed, he managed, "What're you doing down here, Granger? Isn't it a bit close to curfew?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, not really; there's still an hour or so, but Headmaster Dumbledore's given me permission to come down here twice a week."

"Yeah?" Seamus furrowed his brows curiously. "How come?"

Lifting her chin slightly, as if to defend herself should her following words incite a verbal spar, she said, "I teach the elves."

Seamus shook his head affably. "You're somethin' special, Granger."

She shrugged, apparently unsure of how to process the offhanded comment. "They're beings, too. I've gathered that they don't want to be freed, and I guess that's alright if it's what they've decided," she sighed, as if the admission physically pained her, "but they've consented to grammar lessons and… well, to my surprise, they seem to be enjoying them."

It bothered him a bit that she felt so defensive over the things that she believed in; not because he felt that she should give up, but because he felt that she was taunted for her beliefs far more often than necessary. In fact, _she_ was taunted far more often than necessary. Hermione Granger was known to be an overly intelligent, somewhat demanding, stuffy girl, and Seamus just didn't think that was true.

He wasn't well-versed in the art of people-watching, but he was observant enough to notice conversations occurring in his own dorm and common rooms, and he was well aware of how often Gryffindor house – including Granger's best mates – spoke ill of her. He didn't think they truly meant it – at least not the majority of them – but he didn't think it was fair, even still.

Speaking with her now, Seamus saw a soft, giving lass with a desperate desire to prove herself and aid those who needed assistance. He found no crime in that. But it became clear to him, then, that Granger had learned to put herself on defense rather quickly when her controversial opinions were approached.

Seamus looked her over covertly, her face flushed with the slight need to defend her purposes, and her warm eyes avoiding his, glancing down at the book in her lap instead. He watched as she absentmindedly tucked a strand of disobedient hair behind her ear, only for it to spring out of place again. Her fingers, he noted as she flipped a page, were spotted with ink stains and littered with paper cuts – no doubt due to turning the pages too quickly.

He was sure that she knew of a charm to remedy them, though, as they were never visible by morning. He was positive that Harry or Ron would have teased her mercilessly for the pains she was willing to endure for her studies if they'd caught sight of such injuries. He'd have learned a charm to escape the mockeries, as well.

Pausing in his eating and forcing himself to swallow his most recent bite, Seamus glanced up at her with a new idea taking up residence in his fatigued mind. "You know Charms!"

Chuckling briefly before looking up at him, she murmured, "That's a very astute observation, Seamus."

Amused by her sarcastic sense of humor, Seamus laughed boyishly with a new vision of hope on the horizon. "Don't get smart, Granger," he chided lightly.

"Funny," she responded with a small tilt at the corners of her mouth, "as I was under the impression that you'd just admired my intelligence."

Seamus found that he couldn't volley a witty enough response in the appropriated amount of time, and instead elected to ignore her. "Listen, I've been working with this damned Confundus charm since noon and I've not even begun to get it right. I know it's late, and I know you've dedicated yourself to giving lessons to the elves, but would it be at all possible to perhaps tell me what it is that I'm doing wrong?"

"What have you been working with?" Hermione asked, slipping a torn bit of parchment between the pages of the book that she was reading in order to mark her place.

Seamus felt an odd sense of appreciation as he realized that, although she had not expressly agreed to assist him, she was giving him her full, undivided attention – and from Granger, that was sure to be a hell of a lot of help.

"My watch," he volunteered quickly, removing the heavy bit of metal from his wrist. "Flitwick said that would work, but after so many tries I tried my luck on Mrs. Norris, and still no luck. I wasn't even out after curfew, and that damn cat's still makin' me feel as if I've done somethin' wrong," he huffed, aggravated.

"She's not that bad," Hermione offered gently. "She's Filch's familiar, and she's loyal to him, as would be expected."

It was odd, Seamus thought, how he could be so utterly convinced in his opinions, and then she could come along with merely a sentence to make him understand that he'd been in the wrong. That wasn't to say that he was Mrs. Norris' biggest fan, but he could slightly understand her penchant for acting so incredibly Filch-like.

"I can't condone your attempts at charming Mrs. Norris, and I'm sure if Filch caught you trying it, you'd be in detention until graduation," she chided lightly, inspecting the watch carefully. "As it stands, however, whatever harm you may have done to her is minimal. You're heeding small results, but not much," she said didactically, a small measure of softness tinting her voice. He supposed it was easiest to teach sensitive house elves that way – with care and cautiousness, but still acknowledging their weaknesses – when they were so incredibly sensitive.

"I wasn't aware that I was heeding _any_ results," he grumbled, moping.

"It's not going to mean very much to you," she admitted, glancing up at him and handing the silver watch back to him, noting an engraving on the back of the elegant letters of 'S' and 'F' entwined in a beautiful, interlocking manner. Bringing her attention back to the current matter, she pointed out, "If you watch the second hand for a moment, you'll notice it stutters every ten seconds."

Scratching the back of his neck with a skeptical expression on his face, he said, "I'm fairly sure that's been happening since I started failing at this bleeding curse, Granger."

"Oh, I wouldn't doubt that," Hermione shrugged. "Or at least, since the first few attempts. After that, I'd imagine your spirits and confidence waned a bit."

He nodded hesitantly, although she hadn't exactly asked him a question.

"Seamus," she said carefully, "I wouldn't feel terribly about not being able to grasp this one. Tons of people have problems casting it at first, until they get the feel for it. The problem is that the books will always tell you the correct motions and pronunciations, but they never cite any details on what it is, exactly, that you're meant to be focusing on. The Confundus charm requires a relatively large amount of focus. Now, that isn't to say that you haven't _been_ focusing," she was quick to add, at a look of protestation from Seamus. "The problem is that you're not focusing on the right thing, which isn't exactly your fault. Your attention thus far has been on pronouncing the charm correctly and perfecting the wand movements, correct?"

"Yeah," he affirmed confusedly. What else _should_ he have been focusing on, and why didn't any of the damned books instruct him to focus on it?

She nodded lightly, and said, "That's alright. That just means that the process should move along quicker, as you've already mastered the menial aspects of the charm. I'm going to ask you to try it again, but this time focus on what it is, exactly, that you want your watch to do."

"Eh?"

She giggled quietly, and informed him, "You sound far more Irish when you're confused."

"Yeah?" He said, imitating a pompous tone. He then transitioned to the strongest Irish lilt he possessed, and muttered, "Does that turn you on, Granger?"

It more than slightly surprised him when she flushed fervently, and ducked her head down slightly. "I – ah… You should c-concentrate on how you want the hands to move, or whether you want it to forget that it's composed of silver, opposed to gold."

"I didn't mean nothin' by it," Seamus said quietly, as after a moment he had determined that she had not bowed her head in admission, but in defense, as if he had wronged her by his intended teasing.

She sighed, then nodded. "I'm just not typically the girl on the receiving end of comments like that, Finnigan. I suppose it's natural for me to take them as insults instead of jests."

She was avoiding his eyes again, so he took the hint and picked up his wand, aiming it carefully at his watch.

"You might want to start with just one of the hands," she advised. "It's easier when you're only throwing your attentions to one aspect of the item."

Doing as told, Seamus tried the spell and wand movements that he'd repeated thousands of times in an unused classroom several floors above. The second hand – although it did not rapidly spin 'round in circles as he'd imagined it to – swung uncertainly between the six and the nine.

"You're a bleeding genius!" Seamus whooped excitedly, performing a small jig around the table and swinging Hermione into an exhilarated hug as he passed her.

Her brows were lifted in amusement, and the edges of her mouth told of her further enjoyment at his impromptu celebratory act. "Not to ruin your evening, Seamus, but I don't think that was your intended result, although I'll certainly congratulate you on your progress."

"Congratulate me on my progress," he murmured. "Do you have any idea how long its been since I felt this elated about Charms?" He asked her, incredulous. "I ruddy well hate Charms, Granger."

She smiled sweetly at him, indulgently, and said, "I remember."

"I'm sure you do," Seamus intoned, feigning a whisper of confidentiality. "My first year attempts of turning water to wine are legendary. And you… Well, you're like an elephant. You never forget anything."

She frowned at him, and her warm, brown eyes studied him for a moment. "I find it incredibly commendable that you work at Charms as much as you do, even if it isn't your strongest suit, Seamus. It's refreshing."

Seamus grinned, appreciative of the fact that she noticed his efforts, and pleased with the fact that she had told him so. "Thanks, lass."

She smiled again, and Seamus truly did wonder if it had something to do with the Irish in his voice, but he'd wandered into steep waters the last he'd made a joke about that, and he felt he could refrain from doing so a second time. Offending her was the very last thing he wanted, when he knew she experienced too much of that as it was. Plus, she was tremendously helping him out.

Thirty minutes later, Seamus had the second hand and the minute hand swinging around in the same direction, but the hour hand was giving him trouble, and Hermione had made mentions about getting the hands to swing in opposite directions. Feeling a rough combination of success with his current work, weariness due to the hour and the amount of time he'd been practicing, and uncertainty in response to what Hermione wanted him to do, Seamus tugged his hand through his hair and nodded weakly.

He raised his wand to try again, opening his mouth to fire off the charm again. Instead, he felt Hermione's hand close around the fingers that held his wand, pulling it down as she looked him over, and bore into his eyes, searching for something Seamus wasn't quite sure of.

"I think that's enough for tonight," she murmured, turning her face away from his. "It's almost curfew, too, so we should really be heading back to the common room."

"Granger?" Seamus wondered at the sudden change in pace.

She glanced over her shoulder and forced a smile. "Your watch may be out of commission for the moment, Finnegan, but mine's still ticking normally," she responded, and for effect, she tapped her own, slimmer silver band with her wand.

"Anything before you go, Miss?" Dobby asked, eyes wide and eager, and ears flapping with pleasure.

She smiled at him earnestly and shook her head. "I'll be back tomorrow for lunch, if you don't mind, Dobby."

"No, Miss! Dob – I never minds when you visits me!"

Seamus jumped, slightly surprised when the elf correct his use of the third person. He still put his verbs in the plural form, but Seamus certainly saw progress, and he'd hardly spoken with the elf at all. His insides swelled with pride in what Hermione had done here.

"Goodnight Dobby. Sleep well," she waved, and the elf excitably waved back.

"Granger, wait," Seamus said quietly, taking her wrist and tugging it slightly so that she would turn to face him. "What just happened?"

"Nothing," she answered solemnly. "It's just late, and it's almost curfew."

"We've still got twenty minutes to curfew," Seamus disputed lightly. "One minute you're pushing me further, and the next you're tellin' me to stop. Everything alright?"

Hermione frowned, and nodded her head. "Yes, everything's fine. I just… I was pushing too hard again. I didn't really stop to think about how long you'd been at it already, and about what I was asking you to try. You just suddenly looked so tired, so I think calling it a night is a good idea. Really, Seamus, you asked for my help; I didn't mean to wear you down. We can pick it up in the morning, so there's no reason to test boundaries, and…"

The corners of Seamus' mouth lifted into a grin. "You ramble when you're worried, did y'know?" He paused just long enough to watch her face flush prettily as her mouth dropped open to defend herself. He shook his head, then said, "I'm a big boy, Granger. I know when my body's too tired. I'm stubborn, yeh, but I'll give in when I need to. But I think it's really sweet of you to be lookin' out for me. I'll admit, I am a bit tired."

"Then we really ought to get you to bed," Hermione insisted, and Seamus laughed boyishly in response.

"Just a minute, if you please, Granger," he said quietly, pulling her back again by the same wrist that he hadn't let go of. Then the set of his face grew more serious, and his eyes searched hers as he said, "I'm not quite finished with you yet."

"Seamus, you just said – "

"Know what I said, Granger," he replied. "Said I was tired. But I'll tell you something, lass… I'm more interested in kissing you than I am in going to bed."

Before she had time to process his words, let alone respond to them, Seamus descended upon her, one hand on her hip, gently guiding her back to the stone wall, and the other holding her neck, his thumb gently soothing her jaw bone.

"Seamus, I don't think – "

He kissed her then, softly, feeling smooth lips beneath his that didn't quite respond to him, and so he nibbled her gently, and tapped her bottom lip with his tongue. When she still did not respond, he chuckled, and whispered, "Come on, Granger, I'm doing some of my best work here."

A whoosh of air left her mouth as she hastily apologized to him, and muttered, "I've never done it before. Not properly."

"Have you done it improperly?" He asked teasingly.

She looked at him once with furrowed eyebrows and nodded. "Once. With Terry Boot," she hesitated, and looked away from him, but Seamus bent his head to catch her eyes with his.

"Tell me, lass."

"I'd never thought I'd done anything to wrong him, but one day he comes up to me in the library and just sort of… does it. And then I hear his friends laughing and they're exchanging galleons, and he kind of smirks at me and walks away."

"He had no right to do such a thing," Seamus said stonily, Irish firm in his voice as he felt anger on behalf of the sweet girl before him.

Hermione shrugged. "No, he didn't. It's alright, now. It was incredibly embarrassing at the time, but it was over a year ago," she paused, and looked at him intensely.

Seamus wondered about the number of ways he could ridicule Terry Boot, and ensure the optimum amount of embarrassment and shame. He thought that he would have to be sure that it was in the center of the Great Hall, where, of course, everyone could see and understand what a wonderful git he was.

He felt her fingers grasp his forearm, and tighten just a bit. "Seamus?" She murmured, her tone still incredibly innocent as she looked up to him, nervously. "I'd quite like to kiss you now… if you wouldn't mind?"

Heart sinking in her nervousness, Seamus bent low to capture her lips with his, moving slowly, showing her the way, drowning his fury in her sweet mouth. And then he licked her bottom lip and coaxed it open, stroking her jaw with his thumb once more as he felt her hesitancy. He gently swiped his tongue along hers, and felt her moan into his mouth as he squeezed her hip lightly.

When he pulled away from her, Seamus swore up and down that Terry Boot was a fool, not only for embarrassing an angel like her, but for not being patient enough to uncover the fact that she was a really fantastic kisser.


End file.
